


Unnamed

by 3HKate



Category: Shefani, The Voice (US) RPF
Genre: AU-Tale, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2020-02-15 16:54:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18673705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3HKate/pseuds/3HKate
Summary: A simple tale of a different sort.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Perhaps too short and too different to count, yet in my head a whole story of its own. Most likely three parts.

 

 

 

Imagine you've been on the road for months.

Most mornings you don't know where you'll be at night. You don't follow a set route. You only stick to going from one small town, barely deserving the name, to another.

You're not alone. The seat beside you holds your daughter. She has picture books she likes to color in while you drive, but mostly she prefers to stare outside, following the sky, watching the scenery change with the soft body of her doll pressed to her face. It resembles her almost like a twin, fine porcelain face, solemn dark eyes, wavy blonde hair she insist on brushing every night. Sometimes you wonder if she's really only four years old, for she looks so much younger during the day while her soul emanates the wisdom of old age at night.

You take turns being in charge of the radio. One day it's her small hand browsing through the stations until she finds a song she likes. The next it's yours, though, more often than not, you give up your turn. Sometimes you think she is silently humming to herself, eyes half closed, swaying in slow rhythm to music that becomes more familiar.

When she's been in her own world for too long, you stop by the side of the road to find a pretty patch of wildflowers popping into bloom. She'll smile at you when you lie down in the warm grass beside her and weave a flowery crown into her hair.

Eve hasn't spoken a single word since the day she witnessed her daddy fire his gun at you.

Two nights later, the two of you left.

*

You didn't take much. No clothes, no personal items. Only her doll and all the money you had been saving and hiding at your parents' for almost a year. You drove through the night, stopping every other hour to build your supplies. Water and food first. Sleeping bags and an air-mattress second. Then a cooler, fuel canisters, a camp-stove, completed by mugs, plates, utensils. A camp-light. More maps. Toiletries. A change of clothes for each of you. Simple bag packs. Bear spray. Not exclusively for bears, but to go along with the small knife tied around your neck, purposely hidden beneath your shirt.

To an onlooker you would appear like ordinary campers.

Whatever else you needed, you would find in the days to come.

*

One evening you stop at an offbeat campground to the lulling sound of late spring rain and peaceful scents of damp woodland. You love how Eve burrows into your body, her small, warm arms slung tightly around your waist. She sleeps so much better than you do. For that you are grateful.

You, on the other, remain awake for hours, unable to calm your thoughts long enough to slip into the hazy sphere between dream and sleep. Under dim illumination you decide to check the map again. On roughly unfolded paper, your fingertips follow your eyes to find your place in the printed labyrinth of names and symbols. It's hard to navigate without using a phone. Yet in your need to keep the device turned off, you have at least found solace in the ever changing dance of bumps and creases rolling against your skin. With soothing mindlessness you trace state lines and back roads and imagine what they would look like. You're almost ready to close your eyes when you come across the nearest border to a state you've never been to.

Oklahoma.

Something in your chest makes you sound out thesyllables in a tired whisper.

„Oak-lah-home-ah.“

The closest in name to _your LA_ , _your home_ where you can't be, suddenly right there if you followed your current direction the next morning.

*

 _'Welcome to Tishomingo, Population of 3,034_ ' the sign reads. It's new to you, this rural side of your country yet you've found you liked these small, off the map places with names as quickly forgotten as people leave them behind.

You hide your blonde hair under a worn baseball cap and get the both of you ready. When you had first left, you couldn't bring yourself to dye it. Instead you had it cut into a short, messy bob in of those side-street walk-in salons. Eve wears a bandana and sunglasses most of the time you're among people. She loves dressing up, loves making herself look different. You indulge her every way you can.

On your first stop you fill up on gas and ice, making easy small talk while paying. You're traveling, your remind yourself, act normal, no one will pay attention. Without needing to be asked, the cashier offers directions to the main shops. You thank him with a smile, wishing him a nice day.

You get groceries and more necessities next. Eve never lets go of your hand, her wistful eyes observing nearly the same way you do. Despite its size, this small place appears like so many others. Charming, well taken care of. People being friendly at first glance. The dull knot in your stomach eases.

When you spot a rare payphone, you take the sudden chance and try calling your parents' house. You've been careful never to make it the same day. Your mom cries when she hears your voice. She misses you desperately. So do you. She asks if you're okay. If you needed money. You tell her you're safe. Then you talk about Dad and Eve.

„Gwennie,” she whispers into the phone before you need to go. „I wish you would come home.“

„I know. I love you Mom.“

It's all you're able to say, because you both know you won't be home anytime soon.

The rest of the morning you spend on a playground in the nearby park. The sun shines on Eve's face while she swings higher and higher into the sky. You have fruit and small rounds of cheese and crackers for lunch, then she naps in your lap while you weave your fingers through her fine hair. In your mind you track your expenses for the day. You’re weary of having to go back to the car. If you're honest, you have been for a while.

When Eve is up and back from a second turn on the swings you ask her to look at you and run your palm over her forehead.

“How would you like to stay here for a few weeks, love?” You ask. “Take a little break from driving?”

With eyes quiet and large she closes her arms around your neck and sighs a muted nod against your skin. You weren’t wrong. She was getting tired too.

*

Fate, it seems, wanted you to stay as well, for within two days you find a job at the tiny local bakery. It's barely a real job, cleaning and signing for early morning deliveries, but Martha, the elderly owner who is stretched thin between aiding her husband's recovery and keeping the business open to pay hospital bills, is in desperate need of help. “You're godsend,” she exclaims over and over while she prompts you to taste heavenly scented offerings of chocolate-filled cupcakes and warm cinnamon rolls. Better still, she can offer a one-room apartment above the premise. Simply furnished but clean to the last corner. Perfect for you and Eve, you think as she convinces you to take a look. They couldn't pay much, only enough to cover rent, to be honest, along with the promise of all the free treats Eve's heart could desire. It doesn't matter to you, for in your own heart you have already decided, caring more about the genuine hospitality and having your own four walls and a roof over your head.

With Eve excitedly clasping your hand you say yes on the spot and find yourself with detailed instructions, access to supplies, and a set of keys, ready to move in.

That same night, you and Eve soak in the first hot bath in weeks and gingerly scrub every inch of your bodies with vanilla scented soap. Then you wrap yourselves into your sleeping bags, each fluffy and fresh from their equally first wash in months. You can feel your daughter relax against you, dolly hugged to her skin, and you begin to tell her a make-belief tale of two fairies who have become invisible. One tall, one small, they wander the world looking for a new home, and only when they find it, beautiful and safe for little fairies, magic will make it so they can be seen again.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

Although everything is new, the first week passes quickly. Each morning at 5:30 am you bundle up Eve and carry her downstairs. You begin work by checking the back door, bringing in freshly delivered cartons of eggs and sacks of flours orderly stacked on the porch. You inspect the large stand-up coolers and the full size pantry. Inside, neatly labeled, you find space for your goods, as well as various other ingredients and an assortment of dough prepared the night before, ready for this day's baking.

Next, you begin cleaning the bakery. In the front room you sweep and mop the floor, wipe off all cupboards inside out and give extra attention to the sales displays. The backroom needs its floors and work counters done, too. Then there's the equipment in varying sizes to be readied, trays upon trays too big for the industrial dishwasher. Martha comes in around 8:15 and finds nothing but praise for your thorough efforts.

The rest of the day, you and Eve spend quietly in a bubble of your own. You explore the nearby parks and go on daily trips to the playground. You visit the library and the small church that actually offer's a children's program.

Wednesdays and Saturdays there's a farmer's market and you find yourself taking home bag after bag of fresh goods, even though the nights are still cool and summer is yet around the corner. At night, the two of you take more baths and cook Eve's favorite dinners before you read or color or dance around to the country music coming from the radio. Each day you realize more how much you both needed to rest and begin living your own life.

Two more weeks pass in similar fashion. Martha's husband is getting better, if slowly. She's delighted when you're willing to continue your arrangement. More so when you offer to also help with the baking.

“My family's half Italian,” you share. “I pretty much grew up between our kitchen and the beach.”

You work together then and in Martha's following opinion you were humble with your talents. At one point she simply decides to hand over responsibility for all pies and cupcakes to you.

“You've been nothing but a blessing to us, dear. I trust you completely,” she says.

One of these mornings, Eve hugs and kisses you but then wipes her eyes with a yawn before sleepily dragging herself and her pillows back to bed. Leaving both doors to the connecting stairway open, she'll be able to hear you puttering around, trusting you to never be elsewhere. When you check on her curled form twenty minutes later, she's fast asleep again. The second time you come back up she's dreamily lost in a stack of picture books, barely looking up as you kiss her forehead.

“I won't be much longer,” you promise, and leave a glass of milk and a soft roll on the bedside table.

Later she sits beside you, a pink and ruffled children's apron tied around her waist, playing and mimicking you with a miniature baking set while you explain out loud what you're doing.

Your own nightmares still come too often and leave you sweating, heart pounding in your chest. Beside you, Eve never wakes. You're doing all you can to keep it that way. One particularly bad night you tiptoe down to the back porch, where only in the vastness of clean, dewy morning air you find relief from the burning stone stuck in your throat. The moon, fat and yellow in his closeness to earth, your silent companion. You slide down on a lawn chair against the back wall, knees hugged to your chest once your breathing evens out. Serene layers of gold begin to smooth over gray edges of night. You know how earth might be feeling. She, too, might be gathering strength from the stillness between yesterday and tomorrow before beginning anew. You want to believe she knows you're here, sending you the promise of a new day to bring softness back into your lungs.

You're so lost in your thoughts you almost don't hear the truck pulling around the house. It slows to a halt at the porch's end. Before you can decide between staying put or retreating upstairs, a man exits from the driver's side. It's too dark to get a read on him and for a second you feel your body freeze. All you can make out is that he's tall, broad-shouldered, a baseball cap casually thrown on his head. You remain still when it appears he doesn't notice you. Instead he's already at the vehicle's back, unloading carton after carton of fresh eggs so easily his task is done in minutes. You were mistaken about not being seen though, for after he sets down the last case, his body turns and he shifts his forehead towards you.

“Ma'am,” he softly acknowledges, fingers tipping his cap.

It's a moment so fleeting you don't have a chance to react. Seconds later he's already back in the truck.

You encounter him several more times when, hands cupped around a coffee mug and wrapped in a blanket, you've again given up on sleep during following nights,  It's not like you're purposely picking the mornings of his deliveries, but neither do you avoid them. He doesn't seem to mind that you keep to yourself as he appears to do the same. For reasons completely your own, you continue observing him out of the corner of your eye. He's always in jeans and a simple, checkered button down shirt, moving like someone who has lived here all his life. You could be wrong of course. It's just a thought, a feeling rather, crossing your mind. The same way you get a sense he's well accustomed to being up at this time of the day. He never seems surprised whe you're there, like it would be normal to watch the sun rise whenever you could. You're prepared now for his greeting, the only exchange between the two of you. When he turns your way, you answer with a minimal smile. You begin to trust your instincts. He's not a threat.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

As April slowly turns into May, you can no longer ignore your financial predicament. Martha is already doing her best to compensate you for additional baking hours with Eve by your side, yet expenses keep adding up, no matter how much you focus on bare necessities.

Meanwhile, Eve is getting restless, and you can't fault her. She's been content with so little, even as she's soaking up everything new like a sponge. You've been practicing her ABC's, sounding out letters to her and asking her to repeat them with the voice in her head. She makes you go through the favorite rhymes in her library books while she's doodling on paper scraps to shape the same numbers and letters you've put down. Now she traces her fingers along small words everywhere, lips moving in wordless synchronicity and you realize she's beginning to read. In you heart you've already known she needed a real teacher and children her own age to play with before you left. As much as it may scare the both of you now, you've got to find a way to send her to school.

On the following Friday afternoon, you and Eve meet Ms. Maisie in the small school building. Her classroom is warm and colorful, a mirror of Ms. Maisie herself who had been teaching all her life after she and Martha had been next-door neighbors and thick as thieves growing up.

Focusing on Eve first, Ms. Maisie asks her to look around. “Can you find three things you really like in here? I'd love for you to show me when I'm done talking to your Mommy.”

Eve nods with a gleam in her eyes and sets out to investigate. The cupboard full of books draws her attention first. Then, offering you a seat by the window, Ms. Maisie's warm-hearted demeanor continues.

“I'm sure you have questions.“ The older woman smiles at you kindly. “As a rule, all conversations between parents and myself stay in this room. If you like, we could start with a little bit of an outline of how we run our regular days.”

About an hour later you're on your way back home with all question patiently answered. You liked what you learned. For any incidents or emergencies, the school would notify only you or a designated second contact. The same way no one but you would be permitted to pick Eve up unless you had given previous written authorization.  In return you would be given equal contact information for her teacher, the nurse and the principal's office, in case you needed to get in touch.  
Then you grazed the subject of Eve's current limits in communicating. Ms. Maisie didn't inquire too much when you laid out your explanation. Of course you were worried, but Eve had been talking before. You didn't say why she stopped, only that you wanted to give her the summer to settle in. She would be ready in her own time. Any pressure, you were certain, wouldn't help. Ms. Maisie had been understanding. She had taught hesitant speakers before. At Eve's age, she used signs and little cards, as well as a lot of direct involvement and positive reinforcement for participation. She, too, hoped that the company of other children might help Eve to recover her confidence.

Now it was up to you to decide. Save for your own fears, there wasn't a single good reason why Eve shouldn't go. In the end, it was your daughter who decided for both of you when she spent the whole evening first coloring her 4-year-old version of the school building and then the inside of a the small classroom filled with books, crayons and animal pictures. Her three picks to show Ms. Maisie.

Monday morning you sit in the back of class, watching, while Eve is asked to join eighteen little boys and girls in story time. You can tell she's anxious but also fascinated with the way her new teacher builds her tale. She turns around to find you ever so often. At one point, a little girl with red pigtails and a sweet smile shyly comes up to Eve, offering her a selection of stuffed animals from her arms. Eve studies them. She looks first to you and then to Ms. Maisie before searching the girl's face. Finally, she returns the smile and chooses a fluffy pink owl. You watch the two of them sit next to each other for the rest of the day. Eve grins and nods secretly when the red-headed girl giggles something into her ear.

The second day breaks your heart. Eve begins to cries, her face buried in your stomach, when you tell her it's time for you to go. It's only your loving whispers that eventually help still her tears. You would be waiting outside, you promised, sitting in the car all morning so she could come to the window and see for herself during breaks. As soon as the big bell rang at noon, you'd be right there to pick her up. Stoically your daughter hugs you goodbye, then she turns around, the little girl from the day before waiting only a few feet away. The moment you leave the building, you wipe across your own wet eyes, not caring who might see you.  
At bedtime Eve clings around your neck. You tell her over and over how proud you are, how much you love her.

The morning of the third day begins the same yet you're both determined to manage without tears. When it's time to pick her back up, Eve runs down the hallway to meet you with a wide smile, one hand clutching a piece of paper full of letters spelling her name, the other holding tightly to little Hazel MacPherson, the sweet girl who had given you the gift of befriending your daughter. You cannot help but match both their joy. You and Eve used to love quickly. Eve, it seems, still refuses to do otherwise and for that you're infinitely grateful. About yourself, you're less than sure. What you are certain about, though, is that now you could begin to look for a second job.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and commenting so far. It's only short chapters but they keep the momentum going.


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

Almost a week later, a local number holds the single available offer that might work with your situation. You will yourself to use it and answer the ad looking for an afternoon house-keeper. You still have a choice, you remind yourself. You won't agree to anything making you uncomfortable.

It is to your utmost surprise you suddenly find yourself on the phone with the tall, polite delivery man from Martha's back porch. He confirms his identity with a low chuckle and can place you without effort. It feels easy, talking to him, perhaps because you could immediately picture him, or perhaps because of the way he simply takes his time. He's unassuming in asking about your current hours, genuinely pleased when you detail your tasks, however modest they seem to you. His voice is warm, vibrating with drawn out undulation so common for this area. None of the things he mentions seem in any way objectionable. By the end, he invites you to his property, best you saw everything for yourself, he thought.

The same afternoon you settle into your car, Eve curiously by your side as you follow your handwritten map of directions. Along increasingly narrow back roads you eventually find the way leading into private woodland. Gingerly you navigate the overgrown paths and try to focus on them rather than the sudden beauty around you.

When you've passed through the green stillness of secluded forest for another twenty minute, the view all of a sudden opens up and you come to a clearing that seems the beginning to a large parcel of land, perfectly tucked into the promising swell of more land and more woods.

You can make out fenced-in fields, a two-story farmhouse, large, merging with the outline of a garden stretching into the back. It's an old property, rugged in looks, more outbuildings scattered here and there.  As you're approaching the main building, you recognize more of its potential, the old structure charming from up close. A lot of love had gone into restoring the outside woodwork. Everything else needed a lot more of the same. You're certain though, once upon a time this piece of land must have been a beautiful home for someone.

*

When you knock on a dark, wooden door, Eve's palm securely tucked into yours, a familiar form fills the frame.

He looks just like you've seen him before. Baseball cap. Jeans. Button down shirt. Except in the afternoon light it's his eyes that hold your focus. Inadvertently, their glinting blue reflection invites you to smile. When you do, he mirrors you, a sudden appearance of dimples visible through the shadow of dark hair on his face.

"Hi," he says simply and you think you hear a hint of nervousness in his voice. „I'm Blake.“  
  
You've known this of course, yet you like how he extends his hand, making your acquaintance official.

"Gwen," you answer softly and meet his gesture. You expect the resolute grip of someone who has worked outside all their life, but again you're surprised, for your fingers feel like porcelain held safe against lightly calloused skin. You must be staring while barely seconds pass and wonder how it is that part of you feels like recognizing him.

“You find the place alright?”

“Um. Yeah. It's pretty far out actually. I didn't realize.”

“Guess that's why you're the only person to even call. S'ppose I should have been clearer. ”

“Oh no, I don't mind. It's beautiful out here.”

You don't know what made you say that. You had made up your mind not to seem eager, not to immediately voice any feelings. Anyway, it was true. From what you could see, you do find the property beautiful. If anything, your reaction evokes a full wide grin from the man opposite you. In return you're glad you're incapable of holding back, for now you can't help noticing how his pupils are infused with a shining dash of silver when he smiles.

Neither of you gets a chance to go on because suddenly a young dog with a silky brown coat escapes through the door and jumps around your legs in unrestricted excitement. Eve's eyes turn big in wonder, and before you realize she lets go of your hand and kneels down to meet the small four-legged bundle of energy.

"Get back in 'ere, Betty," Blake scolds in a tone that was meant to be strict, but you notice gentle amusement playing on his face, lips curling upwards as he attempts to be serious.

Under Eve's insistent efforts, Betty stills with a madly wagging tail and allows herself to be patted by the girl.

"There ya go darlin'. She'll settle down for a good rub. Try'na scratch her behind the ears." Blake crouches to their level to show her. “See, she's just loving this. Good job getting her to sit.”

Eve beams at him once she finds Blake's explanations to be true, and simply like that it seems that he's won her over, passing on whatever animal charming talents he possesses. You don't even mind how Betty begins to lick Eve's face because it's the first time she's been smiling at a man since the day you left.

“This is Eve,” you softly introduce your daughter, hand on her shoulder as you name your one condition without apology. "She'd be coming with me.”

Blake's kind expression never wavers. Behind his eyes a silent curtain fills his vision, heaviness wrapped in hues of gray, chased away only by Betty beginning to lick his fingers. He chuckles and gives her one good last scratch before standing up, his eyes continuously on your face.

"That's a'right. She could play here all she wants.”

His low drawn-out rumble sounds like he wants to reassure you, her presence already a given.

 *


	5. Chapter 5

 

  
The inside of his house reveals floor-length windows, dark wooden floors, and exposed woodwork. Where once must have stood separating walls now lies bare open space, waiting to be filled with signs of life and actual furniture. Outside greenery shimmers into the sunlit layout and accents the single visible proof of Blake living here, a generous kitchen, somewhat outdated in looks but well-equipped at first glance.

You wander around with gentle curiosity while he slips his hands in and out of his pants' pockets.

“Not much in here yet,” he offers.

You hum and nod in quiet understanding.

“It's beautiful.”

Again, it was true. What was it with this place and first impressions?

“Where do you eat though?”

Light and half-playful he meets your question as such.

“Just...outside?”

Blake shrugs with an easy grin, matching your sudden smile.

It's obvious some work down here has only just been finished for all of your walking leaves footprints in a slight dusting on the floor. Eve, who once again holds your hand, is trailed by Betty, and Blake is swift to redirect her when she gets to close to a bunch of power tools stacked by the stairs with their cords wrapped up.

“I'll get these back to the shed tonight.”

They're an impressive collection. Not the safest to keep laying around. You can't say you wouldn't be glad to see them gone.

The upstairs is a similar mix of opened-up space and a number of bedrooms. Two of them his and private, you presume, for he says they would not be included in any housekeeping.

What draws you in most is the view stretching far into the distance. Behind garden plots emerge wide fields, dancing together in green and yellow before blending into more lush forest green. Flashes of rich blue shimmer before your eye, hinting at a body of water hidden in the far distance.

Blake joins you at the large windows, hands busy with the baseball cap taken off. Peripherally you're aware of how he glances back and forth between you and the scenery.

“Is there a pond here?”

“Small lake actually. Decent for some fishin' and swimmin'.”

His tone holds the warmth of treasured memories.

“Sounds like you've been doing lots of that.”

“Sure did. Sneaked out there every summer as kids. Place belonged to Jeb Graham back in the day. Never said a word as long as we didn't trash the place.”

You were right then, it seems; he did grew up around here.

Small fingers tug at your hand and you lean down to answer Eve's signal by holding out your free arm.

“You want to see?”

Swiftly you lift her up, her left arm secured around your neck. She takes her time, pointing her free index finger as you narrate what you're seeing.

You're too engrossed to notice how Blake's features soften at sight of her head leaning against yours. Her finger swerves back again and again to a group of miniature red-roofed structures.

“I don't know what these are, honey.”

Blake steps closer into your line of sight, shifting to your daughter.

“These're just chicken coops. Houses for the chickens to sleep in at night.”

He waits until understanding dawns on Eve's face before he continues.

*

At night, Eve falls asleep with her arms wrapped around your waist, nodding off against your chest while you kiss her temple. Overall it was mostly a good day, save for a few moments here and there. Neither of you could have expected how the afternoon would turn out. Even so, Eve had been your guide, your lifeline from the second she was born. Everything you did, ultimately, was for her.

You weren't surprised when Eve's whole face lit up once Blake began talking about his chickens, her eyes growing bigger and bigger as he mentioned baby chicks just about ready to hatch. Before long he led you outside, obviously pleased by both your curiosity, though this time you managed a better job of not giving all away.

Then, once you got a glimpse of the back porch and the first garden beds, you began to understand about the state of the house. It wasn't that he hadn't worked on it before, only that first he must have put all his energy into the land and everything else outside.

The chicken's field was larger than you had thought from the window, big enough to offer widespread grass, sandy grounds and good shade to several dozen multicolored birds. They clucked and plucked away as you approached the fence where Blake secured Betty to a nearby post.

“She's too young still to stay out of their way. Once she's a little older she'll be ready to learn.”

In front of you Eve followed Blake through the gate. She wasn't the slightest bit fazed by the small flock of fat hens migrating towards you, scratching and searching the ground in between your feet. One brown chicken in particular seemed intent on investigating your shoelaces; you couldn't keep another smile away as you gently apologized for disappointing her. “Sorry, not real food, sweetie. ”

Blake navigated through the growing number of birds with ease, checking back to find you on his way to the nearest coop.

“Now, close your eyes?” he suggested to Eve before looking at you. “Both of you?”

You cocked your head at his innocent invitation.

Your sense of time suddenly seemed to halt.

On paper everything about the situation sounded like less than a good idea. In reality though you were simply enthralled by Blake's voice warming with emotion as the afternoon sky painted gray-bellied clouds against pastel blue frosting. You didn't know anything about him, save for the burning in your chest where you once knew your heart that was somehow soothed by the same sense of familiarity as when you met.

With the softest flickering in your stomach you copied your daughter and shut your eyes close.

All you could hear were more clucking sounds, low shushing from inside and Blake moving in the wooden structure.

“Here we go, you can look again.” His voice sounded closer than before.

You're slower than you daughter for already you hear her gasp. When you opened your eyes, Blake knelt on the ground and out of his hands unfolded a miniature chirping golden ball of fluff.

“He's barely a day old,” Blake said softly and waited for you both to see. Eve had her eyes wide in a luminous, open-mouthed smile, staring at him in wonder. The baby resembled a tiny, sun-kissed, downy explosion, so captivatingly adorable you almost missed his equally small rose-colored beak and two darkly dotted eyes.

Your amazement must have seemed unreal to Blake although nothing about him would give away such an idea. Rather he seemed to bask in your unguarded joy, encouraging it as much as he could by reaching his hands to your daughter.

“Go ahead, you can pet him if you like.”

Ever so gently Eve leaned in and stroked the pad of her finger over the baby chick's downy head.

“He's real soft, isn't he?”

Vigorously she nodded, high-pitched peeps drawing her back in, almost touching her nose to the little bird.

“You want to hold him, too?”

Blake was met with a play of more wondrous twinkling grins from Eve, causing him to chuckle before a mix of doubt in her expression threatened to take over.

“Don't worry, you can do it. It's real easy, see. Make you hands into a bowl like mine. That's right, just like that. Now stay relaxed and hold him as careful as you can, just like you would an egg.”

Along with his instructions Blake eased the tiny chick into Eve's rounded palms, supporting her hold on top and from below.

“That's it. You got him okay?”

Proudly Eve nodded in reply, in awe of herself and her new baby bird.

You stroked her head while she smiled up at you. Then she lifted her hands to you.

“You want me to take him? Are you sure?”

After a few more moments you gently transferred the chick from Eve's palms to yours. Then you held him up to your face where his soft body tickled your cheek, so lost in the moment you never thought to care of what Blake might think. The only reaction you got from him was openhearted laughter when you imitated the sweet chirping sounds back to your precious cargo. You caught Blake's eyes then and somehow, without needing an explanation, you simply knew that everything on this homestead brought him joy.

“I think he wants to go back to his mommy now,” you announced before whispering your goodbye with a tiny kiss to the chick's feathers. “Thanks little one, you're amazing.”

As if he could sense his impending return, the chick suddenly wiggled and half-flapped, threatening to slip through your fingers. Instantly Blake was by your side, his hands cupping yours without thought.

“Careful now, little buddy,” he coaxed the restless baby, “we got you, you're just fine.”

You couldn't believe how the low tone of Blake's voice and the sudden contact sent goosebumps up your arms, the feel of his palms around your fingers  a tender safety net. Noticeable to no one but you, you felt your hands shake as you loosened them just enough to place the sweet baby back with him. Almost embarrassed you stepped aside, allowing Blake to handle the rest of the transport.

Coming back out of the coop he stretched up to his full height, then looked around, a light breeze twirling through the grass. “So, the garden could be next if you'd like to see more.”

 “We should get going,” you begged off. “Perhaps another day.” 

You could tell he expected a different response. So did you, to be honest. You didn't know what made you feel like leaving. Only that everything felt too easy; too good. If something was too good to be true, it usually was.

“Oh. Right. Of course. Didn't mean to keep you.”

Blake's hand went up to some imaginary spot on his head first, then, for a moment, to scratch the back of his neck.

“Would you let me know? If you're interested at all. In the job, I mean. In a couple days maybe, whenever you're ready?”

“Yeah, sure,” you forced a half-smile.

You weren't certain he was buying it; you weren't certain yourself.

Eve in turn lingered by the coop. You've learned her wordless expressions so well, there's no way you could miss her message.

“Sweetheart, it's alright for us to be going right now. The chick needs to be with his mommy so he can be happy and warm, and we need to get home and get ready for school tomorrow.”

Eve remained standing still, crossed her arms in front of her chest and lowered her gaze to the ground. More often than not, silent refusal was more difficult to handle than talking things out would have been, yet you would never run out of patience with her.

Ignoring everything else you softened your voice and leaned down to her.

“Hey,” you ran your fingers over her forehead to stroke some of her hair behind her ears. “I'm sorry you're not happy with me right now. I know you loved the baby chick. I liked him too, very much so. It's time for us to go. I love you.”

She allowed you to pick her up then, face almost buried in your neck. You felt her disappointment sapping into your skin.

“Let's say goodbye to Blake and Betty,” you pretended with a more cheerful voice.

*

As it turns out, for the rest of the week all Eve draws are tiny yellow balls with red triangles for beaks and black dots for eyes, then longish brown ovals with four legs, resembling what must be a dog, standing next to tiny fairy girls, all of them hidden in a mass of green and blue.

When she barely touches her dinner for several nights in a row, you're almost at your wits end. So you lift her up from the table, hugging her to your chest as she holds on with her legs around your waist.

“I love you so much,” you instill in her, touching your forehead to hers. “I'm going to make plans for us to go back out to Blake's place as soon as we can, okay? I think, with mommy working there we could see how Betty and the chickens are doing?”

Eve's glistening eyes and her fierce embrace were all the response you needed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is not forgotten. Neither are my others. Thank you for reading <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This little tidbit has been sitting on my harddrive for a long time.  
> It barely deserves the name update, because it's so small. What it does though is help me move forward and focus on the next, more substantial, chapter
> 
> Thank you to anyone who is still reading this tiny thing of a tale.
> 
> Happy Birthday, Ann, and Merry Christmas to all.

Each day you drive out to the farm, the narrow roads become more familiar. You've been going back and forth with Eve's face glued to window, silently greeting each row of round bushes, each line of high growing trees until you reach the final turn. She too knows the way now. 

Two weeks, you had decided with her in your arms, that's how long you would try. They've now stretched into four and you're no longer thinking about what life would be like without coming here. In fact, there are quite some other things you've been able to no longer think about. Out here the rest of the world simply dims away for hours at a time.

Today, like most afternoons, you're greeted by Betty bee-lining for your car, drawing a sweet happy smile from Eve as she bestows excited licks and nose-bumps on her human friend. The two have become inseparable, following each other wherever they can. By the chicken coops Betty waits without needing to be tied, so much have your visits become second nature and first order of business. The flock has equally become accustomed to you, and while Eve gently moves through the ground in silent count of each newly waddling baby chick, you opt to lean against the fence, bathing your face in the afternoon sun with Betty's tail wagging against your leg.

You're halfway lost in thought when Blake comes to greet you. He stops not far from your side, resting his arms on top of the fence as his body shifts in your direction.

Part of you has been waiting to see him. With Betty at the house he would be working nearby rather than out in the fields land. Even then, he would still manage say hello, dropping by before picking up a left behind tool or searching the barn for a spare part. 

He carries an expression you've gotten used to, almost coming to expect the light play around the corners of his lips, softness around his eyes mixing with a genuine open gaze settling on you. 

"How's it going?”

„Hi,“ you manage back, averting your gaze more quickly than you had wanted.

When he waves to Eve with the same soft manner he has whenever he watches her play, you allow yourself to be distracted by the faded, light blue shirt on his frame. Of the few he rotates through, this one is your favorite, with its rolled up sleeves a distinct contrast to the deep tan on his skin while simultaneously offsetting the color so alive in his eyes. His dimples pop up easily when your daughter sends a sweet grin in his direction. 

“Little chicken whisperer in the making,” he keeps saying. You match his smile again. He's far from wrong. Right then and there you don't know how it is that his grounded presence alone can make you feel at peace, but somewhere between the returning promise of clear blue skies and the wide stretched hope of grassy fields growing higher every day there's such an easy going presence about him that has sparked you heart into trusting him. Day after day, he's been nothing but kind amidst all the work that's going on. 

“I got some news,” he shares eventually, scratching knuckles alongside his chin “and a question, I guess.”

He's got to go somewhere, some business to take care of over in Nashville. He doesn't sound particularly enthused. “Probably for a week,” he says, “maybe a couple more days.” He's put it off all spring he says, by the tone of his voice it could have been even longer. He wonders how you'd feel about staying out here on the farm, looking after Betty, feeding the chickens, watering the garden once or twice. He thinks they'd be in perfectly good hands. You would help him out, he said, more than you'd know. 

You turn towards him at the last word, a glimmering smile lighting up your whole face. “We'd love to,” you say softly without having to think at all.

You keep standing there, aware of how he's watching you, both of you drawing out the moment without talking.

He seems inexplicably glad.


	7. Chapter 7

Blake leaves on a Friday morning, setting out spare keys and emergency contacts and one last scrawled line of numbers that simply lists his own name next to them.

In the afternoon, you and Eve open every window in the house and settle into the one room you helped get ready since coming out to the land. A slightly confused Betty requires numerous cuddles and treats once you let her out from her crate but with the sweet attention of your daughter and your own promise of a long evening walk she appears to accept the temporary absence of her owner rather quickly, choosing instead to follow your every step and pushing her nose into your hand to solicit even more drawn-out head scratches.

Before dinner all three of you end up hanging out on the back porch, lemonade in hand, overlooking everything that suddenly exists only for you. Now that you're here, the whole weekend in front of you, you don't really know where to start. Except, it's almost time to feed the chickens, and you haven't even been to the garden yet, and you know Betty won't stop following you with her big brown eyes until you make good on your promise to take her out to the fields.

You inhale deeply, a lightness eases through your chest, calling out to the peaceful clarity of the pastel blue sky to remain exactly as it is while you work on setting your worries aside and grow to simply be in this place with so much hidden beauty.

You spends two full days practically floating through warm sunny brightness and earthy green magic, exploring how the little trails behind the house lead your curious trio through fields and into woods and back home again. Before you know it, it becomes perfectly clear why Blake has still not acquired dining room furniture, because why would you want to eat inside when every breath of air holds the scents of flowery perfume and gentle blades of grass softly beg to tickle naked feet and you could simply have a picnic beneath butterflies dancing in wild abandon.

Only heavy eyes and hidden yawns from your very own twirly, woodsy fairy girl call an end to a long Sunday and in your room a handcrafted iron bed frame decked in real sheets and creamy white pillows promises another kind of dreamy haven. With a soft kiss to Eve's forehead you leave the shimmering light from the nightstand switched on while making your round to check the house. It's a new feeling being out in the country, alone and so far from anybody else at night. Little convincing was needed for Betty to be allowed to sleep in the room with you, even though you draw the line at actually permitting her into your bed. She has instead secured a prime spot on the small round carpet on Eve's side, an extra blanket beneath her to soften the floor where she is still ready to be petted by small fingers dangling down to her head.

Downstairs you check on every window and double-lock both the front door and its twin in the back. 

It's quiet outside, dusk falling more securely over the land with each passing moment. You're almost ready to call it a night, needing only a glass of water to take with you, when you notice the slow red blinking on the kitchen phone. Stunned for an instant you simply watch the small light go on and off. Who would think to call the house when Blake wouldn't be home? Didn't they know he was gone? Couldn't they have tried his cell? Unless, perhaps they truly didn't know. Obviously you would have answered the phone if you hadn't been out just then, it's not like you and Blake had specifically talked about it, but still, of course you would have. Now the least you could do is to check the message and relay anything urgent to him. Without further thought you lift the receiver to your ear and press the designated button while beginning to search for something to write on.

To your complete surprise it is Blake's own voice suddenly talking and it's actually you he's been wanting to check in with. He had arrived safely in Nashville. He hoped you had settled in okay. And did you need anything? Did you find everything for Betty and the feathery colony? He wanted to confirm that his friend Carl would come by to pick up and deliver all eggs from the week like planned, so you definitely shouldn't be surprised to find an older man with a dirty green truck helping himself to the storage area. After a few more half stammers that sounded like he wasn't sure what else to say to the machine, but also gave you the feeling that he wasn't quite done, Blake finally said he'd try again tomorrow, sometime after dinner, and if you were around he would be happy to talk you through the garden set-up again, because something about the connecting valves and the in-ground piping made it prone to be backlogged and there was an easy way to check and fix the problem that he thought he forgot to show you. Soon after there was another beep from the machine and then his voice was gone.

You step to the window feeling oddly touched by the unexpected call. It was good hearing from Blake, knowing he was alright. Not seeing him here on his own piece of land had been in some way odd, but listening to him made you feel better. The low rumble of his voice against your ear sounded mostly relaxed, only concerned about the watering thing, and you could definitely make sure to catch him tomorrow and try to sort it out. Maybe it would actually help if you heard the message again, just to make sure you understood as much as you could beforehand since technical stuff wasn't exactly your forte.

You turn back into the kitchen, eyes twinkling as you secure a loose strand of hair behind your ear and press another button to repeat the recording. It's remarkably soothing, this listening to Blake, he's all twangy and uncomplicated, thinking more about what he's left behind rather than his own business. You could easily picture him, perhaps sitting outside somewhere, his shirt's sleeves rolled up, top button undone, baseball cap folded in his hand while he's leaned into the phone on his ear. 

It's a relieving train of thought, realizing how he's not actually that far anyway, and knowing the house is all locked up. There's no reason to worry about going to bed.

When you finally return upstairs, you half sigh and don't even try to suppress another wide smile. Betty has found a way to successfully circumvent your rule. Her behind is still firmly planted on the ground, yet she's skirted even closer to the bed and the new proximity allows her to rest her head on the mattress where Eve lies curled together and is fast asleep, one small hand securely tucked behind Betty's ears.

Whatever gave them comfort, you couldn't deny either of them.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year and thank you for reading and commenting! ♥

It's early still when Monday morning beckons with dim light and a skyline covered in gray slabs. 

On your back, you open your eyes, allowing them to adjust to semi-darkness while stoically willing away the images still vivid in your memory. The last dream left you with clammy hands, a bunched-up pillow and the underlying throb of an approaching headache. Gradually, your roll to your side to check on Eve and convince yourself that she had slept through it, that you hadn't disturbed her. It takes another moment to make sense of what you're seeing. 

„Oh Betty...,“ you silently think once you can make out the shape of the two of them. 

Whichever way the young dog had gotten into the bed, Eve is now partly sprawled on top of her, both of them perfectly content for Betty to be a makeshift pillow. You reach around them and attempt to readjust the sheets that must have slipped away during the night. In response, Betty slowly blinks her eyes open and regards you with a solemn sleepy expression while remaining perfectly still, save for the rise and fall of her chest and a slight crunching of her nose, almost as if she was waiting for you to send her back to the floor. 

„It's okay, sweet girl,“ you murmur with a soft heart, „go back to sleep.“ 

If it weren't for Betty, you would have a hard time leaving the room.

Downstairs you go through the motion of making coffee and wait while the slow drip of the machine fills your nostrils with familiar comfort. Still barefoot, you take the first, almost too hot sip standing on the back porch, inhaling a fragrant mix of roasted beans and clear morning air while you stare into the distance. 

Here, in the middle of a chirping, trilling morning symphony conducted by a myriad of hidden winged composers, you're not the only one awake. A tiny red-breasted robin draws your attention as he flutters and swoops through the air and comes to a halt mere feet from you, on a mission to show that his early food-foraging quest in the nearest flowerbeds is more important than being intimidated by a close-by human.

At first you observe him without moving while he inspects leaf after leaf and your coffee begins to cool. For him, the new day has long begun and he's got things to do and, quite literally, hungry mouths to feed.

„Good morning, little one,“ you want to whisper, but somehow don't dare in fear of scaring him away. You watch him a few more moments as he peeps and hops and darts from inch to inch now picking through still damp soil, leaving earthy crumbs behind, so akin to a tiny scurrying wood-mouse, only with the lightest set of wings and a beak instead and decidedly more courageous. Eventually, between his little antics and a few more careful sips from your mug, you feel last night's remnants fade away and welcome those growing rays of light taking hold of the day. 

Back in the house you fill the early hours with toast and a shower before it's finally time to rouse Eve. She, in turn, seems to have woken up herself to spend her own first moments snuggled head to head in silent conversation with Betty. It's her last week in school before the summer break and already you fear she might not enjoy this particular change to her new routine. As it is you sustain her with eggs, more toast, and orange juice, while Eve swings her legs in concentrated attempts to keep the rest of herself still long enough for you to brush her hair and tie it into small braids on each side of her head. You reward her patience with a kiss to the crown of her hair before she's free to run outside. 

„Ten minutes to say hello to the chickens before we need to go, little fairy.“

Eve and Betty are out of the back door before you've even taken her plate to the sink.

*

The sky is still gray once you arrive at school and you just about manage to see Eve off and get to the bakery before the heavens open up and the world around you becomes drenched in an onslaught of thick, pelting summer rain.

With Martha's permission Betty is allowed her very own spot in a corner where she seems content to doze and watch the quiet going-nos. Martha's husband is finally home, if still mostly on bed-rest, but his return at least allows the older woman to slowly transition back to her previous routine. It worked out just so with, Blake leaving, that she no longer required your early morning cleaning sessions. So now you come in and help finish the day's baking and take over the sales counter while Martha is rummaging in the back, already running preparations for the next morning.

The sudden change in weather doesn't let up, and you resolve yourself to the fact that it would be a quiet few hours when Martha shuffles in, balancing a tray laden with two cups, a steaming teapot, and various supplies. 

„Let's take a little break, shall we, dear?“

For half an hour your conversation flows effortlessly between her husband's recovery, Eve progress in school, the approaching summer break, and harmless town anecdotes. In between, for her second cup of tea, Martha produces a small tinted bottle from her apron and tips a generous amount into her cup. 

„Don't mind me, now,“ she adds, as whiffs of an herbal concoction mixed in mild alcohol rise from her beverage, „it's just those old joints of mine that need a little help on a day like this.“

With a gentle smile you shake your head and don't give the matter a second thought.

„So, love,“ Martha continues, „how are you doing, out in that big house all on your own for the moment? If I may, I must say, I am just so glad to see how well you and Blake seem to be getting along. What a wonderful surprise, really, with all that's happened. But how could he not see what's right in front of him, such a beautiful young thing like you. Just you look at yourself, what a sweetheart you are, and with that precious little girl of yours. A man would have to be blind, and heartless, not to realize what an angel you are!“

You duck your face and stare into your cup of tea, softly fingering the napkin by your side as you will the sudden warmth in your cheeks to subside. You're not the slightest bit used to this kind of compliment, however well-intentioned, and sadly you knew for a fact that not every man would think the same.

„Now, now, I'm sorry for making you blush. Don't listen to an old lady like me. It's just nice seeing Blake a little bit happier is all I'm saying.“

You refill your own cup at her words and take your time stirring a small splash of milk into the dark liquid. Martha's words leave an odd, sad sensation in your chest. You think of Blake and the way he so steadily smiles at you every single day you had seen him.

“Why would he not be happy?” you ask in a low tone, ignoring how you suddenly could not bear to think of Blake as anything but. Martha watches you, intently, for a moment that feels too long.

“Well, the past's in the past now. Let me just say, he's not been very lucky in the marriage department.”

“Oh...,” is all you can manage ever so softly. Then your eyes shift and focus on a spot beside the tray, giving you time to breathe.

“He's just such a humble and hard-working man, I'm sure, you know. This town owes him, and we stand behind him, no matter what. He was getting ready to settle down and start a family from all I knew. Only, this young woman, his fiancée, mind you, she seemed a different sort. Us older folks, I think we could see it. But he was very much in love. She was pretty, too. Curvy and blonde. A musician of some type, up for a lot of fun and partying with her band, gone for tours and things like that quite a bit. Most women, I think they settle down once a baby is on the way. With her it seemed quite the opposite, I'm afraid. Supposedly they were fighting all the time then. I don't know if that's true or not, to be honest. But eventually, they called off the engagement. She moved away as quickly as she could."

"Last I heard,” Martha's voice drops low and she sighs, “she ended up not keeping the baby. It wasn't even his, if you believed some of her friends. Apparently she took great pleasure in telling him once they had broken up. If you ask me, it's the only reason he wouldn't have gone after her, or the child, more importantly.” 

With another sigh, Martha refills her tea cup for a second time. “Horrible business. All of it. We didn't see Blake for a good two or three months after. And that's all that's left to say about it, I'm afraid.”

You remain sitting across from her and stare, a blank expression covering your face. Martha exhales and leans her head towards you. “Oh, I'm so sorry, dear, are you alright?” 

“He just..., he must have been heartbroken.”

“I'm sure of it. And who could have blamed him? But now,” she draws out the last word, “it's all over and done with, thank the lord, and he's better off for it, I dare say. Eventually he came back to town, you know, and bought Jeb's land, on the spot, just when they got ready to tear it all down and sell it off to lord knows whom. So here we are, just about a year later, and things don't look quite as bad anymore.”

If Martha thought so, part of must be true, at least. Still, you weren't quite ready to share the sentiment.

“He's just, like so easy-going and grounded and seems to really love what he's doing out there. Honestly, you couldn't tell something like that had happened to him if you didn't know.”

“Very true. He's been that way for as long as I've known him, keeping his heartache to himself, putting his head into work. Not that he needs it to make a living, or anything, but it's how he's dealing, I suppose. Not the worst way to go about it, either.”

Finally, as the pot is empty, Martha gets up, wincing slightly with a hand to her back. 

“Let's see how the dough's coming along now, shall we. I'm still so lucky you're here to help. I don't know how I'd manage otherwise."

She pats your shoulder with a kind smile. 

“Just don't let me drink so much tea next time, love. It's really not a good habit of mine, all that talking about someone else's business.”


	9. Chapter 9

*

 

When you're ready to pick up Eve, the rain has calmed to a lazy drizzle running into dirty puddles already sitting by the side of the road. Betty's head rests on your knee as you wait, her even breathing anchoring you to the present rather than where your thoughts want to go. Eve exits the school building hand in hand with Hazel and both girls make a game out of skipping together to the rows of waiting cars where they wave their goodbyes, before your daughter, happy and breathless, enters the vehicle to sling her arms around your neck. Her beaming smile is momentarily infectious and your main clue to know she's had a good morning. 

The afternoon you spend in a dreamlike, heavy, restless state, allowing the house, with every door and window wide open, to become a sphere of refuge as the day finally warms and floods the air with a scent that embraces just about a million earthy green particles sprung alive in invisible dance. 

With Betty dozing nearby, Eve plays pretend games on the back porch that include her doll and a variety of leaves, pebbles and oddly shaped sticks she has brought back from the woods. Utterly absorbed, she hums and sways to some slow, twangy tunes from the radio.

You, on the other hand, are left to try and get your mind off of Martha's revelations which seems a hopeless effort even as you try and focus on sweeping the hardwood floors and then begin to iron the last round of new curtains for upstairs. You love the way sunlight filters through the gently woven cotton; the simple task, however, does nothing to help distract you.

At some point, once you've finished work and brought out a plate of cut up fruit for snacks, only to sit down and stare into the sky, Eve, of course, picks up on your preoccupation and promptly scrambles up on your lap from where she sneaks her small arms around your waist and lays her head directly over your heart.

“It's okay, sweetheart,” you run you hand through her hair, “Mommy's just a little tired.” 

You smile at her, hoping it will convey that there's nothing truly for her to be upset about. Eve's small fingers copy yours, weaving and twirling through strand after strand of your own hair in the way it has always seemed to bring her comfort ever since she was just old enough to grasp for it. It's beginning to grow out again, resting just above your shoulders and halfway back to its original length. When you look into a mirror it feels like returning, like coming back to yourself.

“I won't cut it again, will I? What do you think?”

Eve answers with a fast shaking of her head from left to right and makes it a point to curl and twist the closest strands, letting them fall so they strokes over her cheek. Her serious gaze won't leave yours.

Once the sky has finally ceased its shower of earth, your visit to the chickens is shorter than usual, though due only to your lack of fitting rubber boots. Despite what you expected, the birds do not mind flocking through muddy grounds and wet grass; in fact, they seem to love the adventure of going after every new slippery, slithering wormy sign of life brought up to the ground, and Eve too, quite reasonably, is happy to leave them to their quest. 

On your way back to the house you make a favorite stop in the garden. Upon Blake's hopeful urging during your first week you've been here almost nearly day, exploring and sampling every new offering bursting fresh and ready from the soil. 

“It's meant to be enjoyed,” he had said simply, with a soft, inviting rumble in his voice, and even if you had intended, you couldn't have declined his offer then.

Just like on your first visit, the pathway of pebbles crunches beneath your step and you continue to be utterly entranced once you enter the fenced-in, green oasis and allow your view to sweep across the vibrant display of life exploding out of every inch from rectangular wooden beds. In shape and size, sometimes material, all feet-high structures differ slightly from their neighbors, and where some, the younger ones, are still able to contain their colorful inhabitants, the older beds nearly burst with dominant growth and heavy fruit ready for harvest. Wherever you look close, you meet a bright microcosm of wildly-scented blooming chaos, offering shelter and sustenance to all beings buzzing, humming, winged or otherwise tiny and alive. 

It's Eve's turn to choose your sides for dinner and she skips from left to right, running her fingers where glistening raindrops have pooled together and leaning closer to greet the occasional ladybug safely tucked away in dry nooks underneath protective foliage. 

With several broccoli florets picked and two hands of fresh spinach for good measure, dinner is a deliciously smooth affair, and once all dishes are washed and Eve and Betty have moved on to her picture books before bed, you cozy up in one of the big, round, padded outdoor lounge chairs on the porch, a steaming cup of freshly brewed mint tea and the kitchen phone by your side.

The moment you hear Blake's voice on the other end of the line, most of the tension behind your temples dissipates.

“Hey. It's me,“ he says with a short pause. “How's everything? 'S this a good time?”

He sounds just like you remembered. Down to earth, relaxed, happy to check in even. So far removed from what you have imagined he must have felt like. 

„Hi,” you manage back and can't help but let your relief wash into a smile. „This is perfect, we're just done eating. How've you been?“

He recaps some of the traveling and some recurring thoughts about how he always needs a couple days to adjust to traffic and the city noise once he gets out of Tish. You agree with him without thinking. You couldn't fathom being anywhere else at the moment.

„Everything else okay on your end? Betty behaving herself? Birds staying out of trouble?“

You're happy to report how everyone's on their best behavior, omitting only Betty's new found love for sleeping in human beds.“

“Alright then, you ready to tackle this watering stuff?”

You laugh softly. 

“Yeah, so in theory I'm, like, totally ready. But I guess nature's already done the job without us,” you explain about the day.

“Well, there ya go then. Another day spared,” he chuckles.

“Seems like it.“ 

More likely, the downpour should be good for several days at least. 

“This way is better for the ground though, isn't it? Like, rain's the best type of water to have?”

“Oh, absolutely. You're spot on!” He sounds pleased, like you surprised him almost. “If you feel like it, look for those late buds that have been coming up in the fields. They'll be ready for you overnight.”

“Just like that? Are you sure?”

„I'm sure. A decent shower's just about what they needed. You'll see.“ 

Blake's voice carries warm traces of a promise certain to be true. You draw your legs up, resting your head back against the chair. 

„Okay,“ you say softly. „I can't wait.“ 

For a moment there is no need to fill the ensuing silence. You stare into the sky, wondering what he'd be seeing if he looked up.

You know,“ Blake starts again, „if you liked, you could also grab a bunch of flowers from the garden and take them to Martha's. She'd love having them, for sure.“

„She would?“

„Hmm. She has her own garden, normally. But I don't think they managed any real work there with keeping the bakery running and John just getting back on his feet again and stuff.“

„All of you guys living here pretty much know everything about your neighbors, right?“

„Mostly, yeah,“ and it's a wry chuckle that escapes Blake before he continues with more warmth. „That's just the way it is in a small place like Tish. There's no real secrets here. It's not for everyone, for sure.“ He pauses for a thought. „I've been living here most of my life. I guess it's never really bothered me that much, to be honest. Most folks just mean well. The ones who stayed and made their life here, they're loyal, with a good heart. You'll always find a helping hand when you need one. We just look out for each other. If you ask me, that counts for a lot more than some people realize.“

„Oh wow.“ You're stunned by Blake's acceptance and honest conviction. „I never quite saw it like that. That's lovely actually.“ 

„No worries.“ 

You could hear his smile through the phone and meet him with a laugh.

„Okay, so, we'll definitely pull something together for Martha.“ 

*

It's barely the next morning when you're out in the meadow behind the garden and immerse yourself into wondrous masses of blues and whites and lilacs dotted and sprinkled through the grass. They awaken to luminous bloom in slow motion, greeted by delicate birdsong and misty morning dew as they unfold their petals to be home under a sky of pink marshmallow clouds and only you, watching from where you sit between them, filling your heart with their immeasurable grace.

Time ceases to exist until Eve comes to find you, Betty trailing behind her, following scent after tantalizing scent. Barefoot and in her nightgown still, Eve stretches her arms to her side and twirls herself through magical waves of young flowers until you beckon to her and she finds stillness and warmth in your lap where your arms wrap around her.

„They're just like us,“ you murmur into her ear. „Imagine how they've been asleep until God decided to plant them here. He sent his love through the sun and his strength through the rain and made it so they wanted to wake up and would feel happy and beautiful.“ 

Eve closes her eyes and hums against your chest. You draw her even nearer, warming her rosy cheeks with your palms, waiting for the sun to be fully up. 

„Mommy loves you so, so much, Eve,“ you whisper. „Never forget.“ 

A long while passing, your own eyes closed. Her breath so quiet only the flowers could hear.

„Love you, too, Mommy.“

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and your lovely comments. ♥


End file.
